


these fangs

by wyverning



Series: give me something to chew on [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood Drinking, Fae!Andrew, First Times, Grinding, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magic, Possessiveness, Witch!Neil, associated violence with vampires feeding, dirty talking, foreplay disguised as fighting, jerking off, minor injury, the slightest hint of sex pollen, trust building through sexual intimacy, vampire!neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/pseuds/wyverning
Summary: “How oftendoyou need blood?”Neil wishes he’d stop saying it like that, like it’s an inevitability. It may be the truth, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. “Every few months.”Andrew’s breath brushes warm over his face, and Neil makes the mistake of looking down at his lips as he speaks. “Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s interesting. See, I’ve been asking around, and I have it on fairly good authority that most vampires go feral after a few weeks without a blood source.”Neil’s jaw tightens, and with the press of Andrew’s fingers against him, he knows the Fae can feel it. Abruptly, Neil jerks his head out of Andrew’s grip, taking a step back. He needs tobreathe, and isn’t capable of thinking rationally when Andrew’s that close. “Well,” he says, frustration bleeding into his tone, “good thing I’m not most vampires.”
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: give me something to chew on [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697431
Comments: 20
Kudos: 340





	these fangs

**Author's Note:**

> when i first wrote my vampire!neil fic for the aftg RBB, i knew there was no way i'd be satisfied with it until i wrote a cliche blood-drinking sex scene. it's a little _less_ cliche with andrew and neil involved, but aaaay. here we are.
> 
> you probably need to read the first fic in this series to fully understand what's happening, but i'm not the boss of you. in quarantine times, there are no rules. do as you please.

The grip of fingers against Neil’s chin is impossibly firm. 

It’s a possessive, controlling hold — Andrew’s hands are calloused, rough things, and the way they press against the thin skin of Neil’s jawline should feel… distressing. Domineering. Uncomfortable.

Instead, Neil feels something hot and indiscernible swirling in his belly. There had been a moment, when Andrew had first stepped into his space and sent a brushing of magic across Neil’s body — a silent request for permission that Neil had granted with a swift nod — where he’d felt apprehension. It had passed in a flash, rationality washing over Neil seconds after his hindbrain had warned him the touch was just a hair’s breadth away from the despotic authority of his father. 

Neil’s not positive that this is a type of touch he _appreciates,_ yet he also knows, with complete and utter certainty, that he doesn’t want Andrew to let go.

“Neil,” Andrew says, tilting Neil’s head in a way that makes it impossible for him to do anything but look into the swirling brown-green-brown of Andrew’s eyes.

His response is embarrassingly breathy. “Andrew?”

“Care to tell me why you passed out in Eden’s lounge yesterday?”

The heat cools instantly, becoming something very nearly shameful. Even in the privacy of Andrew’s apartment, he feels embarrassment rise to his cheeks. If he’d been full of blood, he might have even flushed.“Because Matt’s a snitch?”

Andrew’s eyes narrow even as his grip somehow becomes tighter. “You’re not nearly as amusing as you think you are.”

Neil swallows nervously, and his Adam’s apple brushes against Andrew’s fingers. There’s almost no space between the two of them. It’s incredibly distracting. “I overexerted myself, that’s all. The wards at Eden’s are garbage, and I figured you would all appreciate having _real_ privacy beyond the club.”

“You overexerted yourself. Is that your final answer?” The words are casual, as though Andrew truly doesn’t care.

Unfortunately, Neil knows better.

Matt has lost any and all of Neil’s loyalty. He’d thought he’d gotten lucky, seeing Matt’s earnest concern, but he should have known the man was a backstabbing bastard. “Um,” Neil says. “Yes?”

Andrew hums disbelievingly. “You’re usually much better at lying.”

 _Your face is usually much further away from_ my _face,_ Neil thinks. His hunger is a preoccupying force — it’s easier to stifle the craving for sustenance when he maintains his distance. This close, though Andrew smells no different from a human, Neil can almost taste his Fae blood.

It’s part of why he’s in trouble, apparently.

Neil would _really_ prefer making out with Andrew to being interrogated by Andrew. 

“Second question,” Andrew says. “Why haven’t you been feeding from Nicky?”

Fuck. 

Lying hasn’t gotten Neil anywhere, so he might as well try for the truth. “I’m not hungry,” he says. 

The anger rolling off of Andrew is nearly palpable. “I seem to recall you needing daily blood after Riko.”

“Yeah,” Neil tries. “Exactly. After Riko. I needed to replenish my reserves in order to heal. Now that I’m healed, I don’t need it as often.”

“How often _do_ you need blood?”

Neil wishes he’d stop saying it like that, like it’s an inevitability. It may be the truth, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. “Every few months.”

Andrew’s breath brushes warm over his face, and Neil makes the mistake of looking down at his lips as he speaks. “Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s interesting. See, I’ve been asking around, and I have it on fairly good authority that most vampires go feral after a few weeks without a blood source.”

Neil’s jaw tightens, and with the press of Andrew’s fingers against him, he knows the Fae can feel it. Abruptly, Neil jerks his head out of Andrew’s grip, taking a step back. He needs to _breathe_ and isn’t capable of thinking rationally when Andrew’s that close. “Well,” he says, frustration bleeding into his tone, “good thing I’m not most vampires.”

“We agree on that,” Andrew says. He has to know he’s riling Neil up, but his self-preservation skills leave a lot to be desired. “In fact, you’re a breed of your own. A weapon that requires the same fuel to live as it needs to attack. Really, you’d think sustenance would be a little more urgent.”

Coming from anyone else, the words would sting like a slap. As it is, all Neil feels is the rising heat of anger.

Nobody knows him like Andrew. Nobody’s dared to speak to him like this in _decades,_ too fearful of the Moriyama weapon that turned on its creators. That savagely murdered its own father.

If Andrew wants a verbal spat, Neil’s more than happy to oblige. He says slowly, “Huh. Didn’t know you were a scholar of non-humans. Do they teach that on the side at bartender school, or are you just great at extracurriculars?”

“You’re starving yourself.”

“I’m _not._ I know my body better than you do.”

Andrew smiles, but it’s a twisted, sharp thing. “Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t be _overexerting_ yourself.”

Neil’s been hungry for _weeks,_ now. He’s more than adept at hiding the symptoms, stretching out feedings until the ache becomes unbearable, and he could explain that to Andrew, could be reasonable and realistic and share how the slide of human blood down his throat is a constant reminder of the monstrous side of him, but —

But anger drives out his rationality. 

“I’ve lived more lives than you could even _fathom,_ ” Neil snarls. Anger simmers beneath his skin, his magic itching for a fight. Against his will, his fangs drop, and he bares his teeth at Andrew. “You don’t control me. You don’t _know_ me, or my limits, and to accost me like this, like you have _any_ claim over me or my wellbeing, is a mistake you won’t repeat again. I’ve survived on my own for decades, have killed more non-humans than I could even possibly count, and you’d do well to remember that. Don’t you _dare_ patronize me like I don’t know how to keep myself alive.”

Andrew stares calmly back at him. He remains unmoved, though the hand that had been holding Neil’s jaw a lifetime ago has moved toward one of his armbands, where Neil knows silver blades are sheathed.

Neil laughs without humor. He’ll always be seen as a threat, after all.

“Fine,” he says, the frenzy of his anger snuffing out like the flame of a candle without any air. “I’ll go ask Nicky for some blood. You win. _”_

Neil spins on his heel, fully intent on storming his way straight from Andrew’s apartment to Eden’s. Never let it be said that Andrew and his Fae-tinged magic haven’t _encouraged_ him to tell the fucking truth.

“No.”

It’s just a single word. It’s not even spoken particularly loudly, though the sheer force of _magic_ backing it is enough to still Neil entirely, his spine tense as he stares at the front door.

“No?” Neil repeats skeptically. 

“You’re not going anywhere.”

When he finally turns around to face Andrew again, he sees the glint of silver held firmly, expertly, in Andrew’s dominant hand.

“Andrew,” he says, suddenly exhausted. His chest hurts like he’s been dealt a powerful blow. “Put the knife away. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The amused snort that Andrew lets out is startling in the silence of the apartment. It’s disarming, and Neil doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Fuck off, junkie. I know you’re not going to hurt me.”

With the fury burned out of him, all Neil’s left with is confusion. “Then why—”

“Regardless of whether or not _you_ believe it,” Andrew says, tugging one of his armbands down his wrist and over his hand until his forearm is revealed, pale and bare in the stark lighting of his apartment, “you’re starving yourself. You’re right — you’ve survived for a long time. But don’t you think it’s about time to do better?”

Too late, Neil realizes Andrew’s intent. He lunges across the room, hell-bent on knocking the blade out of Andrew’s grip, but even with magic dogging his steps, he’s not quick enough. Andrew cuts deeply across the skin of his arm, blood welling immediately to the surface to meet the sharpness of his knife.

The sheer idiocy of his instinctive movement hits Neil, full-force, as he jerks to a stop, inches away from tempting lifeblood.

“Drink, Neil,” Andrew says, though his words are fuzzy and distant through the overwhelming pounding in Neil’s head.

“Fuck you,” Neil hisses, eyes transfixed as blood spills out of the wound. It’s not a dangerous injury, not with the sluggish flow of blood, but he’s furious at the thought of Andrew injuring himself this way. For _Neil._ “How could you —”

“Are you going to let this go to waste?” Andrew interrupts, his words a drawl.

Neil would rather die.

The tangy, coppery scent of blood in the air threatens to overpower all but Neil’s most basic instincts. His fangs feel too-big in his mouth, throbbing with anticipation of a meal.

He can do this. He can pace himself, can take what’s already spilled and seal the wound up with lingering blood magic before he gives in to the animal instinct to take what he needs, to consume.

Still, Neil doesn’t move.

Andrew growls low in his throat and then moves forward, his uninjured arm winding around Neil’s back until a hand on the back of his neck pushes him closer to the wound.

Why Andrew would do this — willingly put himself once again at Neil’s mercy without the impending emergency of Neil’s mortality — is beyond him. Everything’s happening too quickly, and the smell of blood _sings_ to Neil’s instincts.

Neil gives in, and drinks. 

And then he licks at the split of Andrew’s flesh, summoning up every ounce of willpower left in his body, and uses just enough magic to knit Andrew’s skin back together. He sets about cleaning Andrew’s arm, mouthing at every inch of skin that blood had spilled over.

The moment it’s fully healed, Neil shoves himself away from Andrew. Even the smallest use of magic has him lightheaded — or maybe that’s the blood? 

He can’t tell anymore. He isn’t sure of anything.

A second passes. An eternity passes. And then Neil sees them: just below the freshly-healed mark on Andrew’s arm are countless silvery lines, bumpy and raised and scarring the entire span of his forearm.

It’s a very real possibility that Neil’s about to throw up Andrew’s blood before his body is able to absorb it.

“I hate you,” Neil says, voice a wobbly, watery thing. “How could you — any of this?”

“Silver doesn’t scar,” Andrew says, like it’s a reassurance. They’re tangled up together, Neil pressed up against his chest so closely that he can feel the rumble of Andrew’s words. “But iron does. And I had plenty of opportunities to learn that, with those who created me. You learned similar lessons, too, didn't you."

He wants to rip himself out of Andrew’s arms. He wants to stay there forever. He wants to kill those who taught Andrew how cruel the world could be.

“I don’t understand,” Neil says, and then shakes his head at the furrow in Andrew’s brow. “Not — that. Why would you hurt yourself more just to — to feed me?” _Why would you show me your scars?_

“Surviving off of blood once every few months is not living,” Andrew says quietly. Firmly. Like he actually believes it. “You have better options now.”

It's not quite an answer. It doesn't explain why Andrew's revealed such a potential vulnerability to Neil. With the taste of Andrew’s blood still in his mouth, Neil flounders. “I’ve never known anything other than this.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s all you can be.” 

“I’m stronger,” Neil says, words rough and stilted. “When I have more blood. But I can’t… take that much from you. From anyone.”

“Self-pity isn’t a great look on you, Josten. You stopped yourself in seconds after I cut myself."

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

Andrew looks frustrated, but he still brings a hand to brush at Neil’s hair. “And you didn’t. So what’s the problem?”

The _problem_ is that it’s impossible to hide this part of himself away from others when his — partner — keeps digging relentlessly, but Neil can’t say that. Can’t even fathom articulating it aloud. Maybe someday, if this tender part of Andrew that he's been given is allowed to grow, but for now...

“There is none,” he lies, the words sour in his mouth. “You’re right. I need to drink more often.”

The concession feels bitter, but Andrew’s not _wrong,_ and maybe that’s what stings the most. He’s survived for nearly a hundred years, but things have changed.

He has friends now. He has _Andrew_ now.

“Neil.” Andrew rests his forehead against Neil’s, and the rest of the world falls away. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

The kiss is gentle, far gentler than Neil ever thought he or Andrew could possibly be. There’s a faint hum in the air as their magic mingles around their closeness, and Neil allows himself to relax into the comforting warmth of Andrew’s arms and body and mouth.

It doesn’t stay soft for long. Andrew’s kiss grows more urgent, needier, until he’s pulling thin, reedy gasps from Neil’s throat as Andrew’s mouth takes him apart.

Neil feels like he could be here forever, tongue entangled with Andrew’s own, but Andrew has other plans. He leans back, breath a heavy, audible thing, before redoubling his efforts, opting to attack Neil’s jaw and neck this time. Dizzily, Neil finds himself pressed against the soft carpet of Andrew’s apartment, the Fae hovering above him as he continues his assault.

“You need blood,” Andrew breathes against his skin when he finally manages to detach himself from Neil’s reddened skin. “I have blood. See how nicely things could work out?”

“I don’t,” Neil gasps as Andrew’s teeth graze his collarbone in mimicry of what he clearly expects Neil to do in the very near future. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply, as though it’s that easy. And maybe… maybe it is. Neil’s never used his magic in such a way before, but surely there’s a way to deaden the nerves around where he bites, soothing any pain before it can register in Andrew’s mind.

“Andrew,” Neil whines, overcome with the thought. He’s so goddamn _hungry,_ both for blood and the blond Fae above him. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, you fucking idiot. Bite me.”

And Neil does. He arches his spine until his lips fit neatly around the thick cord of muscle against Andrew’s neck, and he sends a pulse of searching magic out before sinking his fangs into the delicate, delectable skin presented to him.

Blood flows immediately. It’s not like before, with Neil reining himself in and forcing himself _not_ to give in to temptation: now, he lets everything go. His entire existence narrows into the pinprick of Andrew’s blood as it fills his mouth, at least until Andrew bites out a curse between gritted teeth.

Neil stops immediately, and then is abruptly shoved even further into the junction between Andrew’s neck and shoulder.

“Do _not_ stop,” Andrew groans, and it’s only then that Neil realizes Andrew’s fingers are threaded into his hair, and his body is a hard, taut line against Neil’s own. He’s too blood-drunk to comprehend Andrew’s reaction, at least until he finds himself rutting up _against_ that hard, taut line, hips jerking unconsciously into Andrew’s own.

Oh. _Oh._

Neil hasn’t consumed enough blood for his own body to react in _that_ way — fuck, he’s never even truly understood this beyond the conceptual possibility — but his mind hasn’t gotten the message, sending a hot bolt of arousal racing through every fiber of Neil’s being.

“Andrew,” Neil gasps, already missing the heat of fresh blood in his mouth. “Is this okay?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Andrew swears, digging his blunt nails into Neil’s skull. The pressure of it all is intoxicating. “What the fuck did you even _do?”_

He’s giddy, and overwhelmed, and wants nothing more than to grind up against Andrew until they make a mess. “I think I screwed up the magic,” he admits. “Does this feel good?” Neil brushes a finger against the pinpricks of his fangs in Andrew’s neck, and then delights in the full-body shudder that wracks Andrew’s frame.

Neil can’t resist licking the lingering trail of blood off of his finger — especially not when he notices Andrew tracking the way his tongue darts out of his mouth.

Oh, and Neil thought his power was in his _magic._ What a fool he’s been.

“Can we — can we do this?” Neil asks, gesturing meaningfully between them. He can feel his skin warming, the effects of Andrew’s blood making themselves known, and the heat brings with it a yearning so fierce Neil can’t do anything but give in to it. “I’ve — I’ve never felt like this before, but I _want_ to.”

“Yeah,” Andrew says, and it’s clear he’s feeling something similar, because he sucks in a too-sharp breath and mutters, “Yeah. But only if you do that again.”

Neil grins, teeth bloodied and ferocious, and then obliges.

This time, whatever Andrew feels as Neil bites down reverberates between them. It’s obviously the effect of someone’s magic — Neil’s not sure whose — but the flood of endorphins has Neil soaring alongside the hot, sticky blood he pulls from Andrew’s body.

They’re not graceful. Neil’s not sure he’s even _capable_ of such a thing, not with Andrew’s body pressed so closely against him and the heady rush of blood coursing through his system, but neither of them seems to mind.

Neil throws a leg over the curve of Andrew’s ass, eager to bring them closer together, and even through the rough drag of fabric, his cock begins to harden. Andrew’s already hard, his thin sweatpants doing nothing to hide his arousal, and the press of it against Neil has him gasping profanities against Andrew’s skin.

He wasn’t lying, for once: he’s never felt anything like this before. He wonders what it would be like to _touch_ Andrew like this with his hands, his mouth, his —

Andrew groans, low and long, and Neil’s thoughts dissipate into nothingness. 

Some deeply-rooted instinct has Neil pulling off of Andrew’s neck, convinced he’s had too much, that Andrew won’t recover from this much blood loss, but the moment he curves his neck away from the temptation of draining Andrew dry, Andrew chases after Neil’s mouth with his own. 

This time, there is no softness as they kiss. 

It becomes too much too fast, that much is clear: Neil’s not used to feeling arousal _or_ having his body react like he’s capable of such things, and as a result, the throb of his cock has him writhing in pleasure-pain against Andrew’s own hardness. He wants to get _off_ and get off _now,_ and his desperation for release has him mouthing sloppily against Andrew in a wet, messy mockery of a kiss. 

For his part, Andrew doesn’t seem to be complaining. His tongue is still capable of maneuvering beyond gasped expletives, and he bears down on Neil entirely. Neil gasps as a shudder builds and then crescendos, his orgasm rushing forward and over him. It’s overwhelming, and consuming, and Neil’s positive the noises he’s making don’t even sound remotely human, but none of that matters because above all else, he can feel the fast-paced thrum of his heart beating in his chest.

It’s never come even _remotely_ close to approaching a normal heartbeat, not since he’s turned, but Andrew’s done the impossible. 

Neil has never felt more alive.

Andrew says, “I need to—” and then immediately disentangles himself from Neil’s limbs, vanishing into the bathroom seconds after Neil comes down from his impossible high. It’s futile to react, it happens so fast. Neil gasps for air, awed at the pleasure diffusing throughout him, and he hopes Andrew feels the same.

“Andrew,” Neil says when the door opens an eternity later. His voice is raspy, like he’s just finished screaming. It’s possible he has. The stickiness in his pants is slowly becoming less attractive and more _gross_ _,_ but Neil’s not sure he’s capable of full-body movement just yet.

“Neil.” 

“Hey.” Somehow, Neil manages to prop himself up on his elbows. Andrew’s hair is a tousled mess, a new pair of sweats hanging low on his hips. He doesn’t look as fucked-out as Neil feels, though.

Instead, he looks almost… wary. On Andrew’s usually blank features, the emotion stands out stark and startling. 

Whatever post-orgasmic bliss Neil was feeling immediately vanishes. “Andrew, did we — did I do something I shouldn’t have?”

“No,” Andrew says slowly, though he sounds sure of himself. It’s convincing enough to knock Neil down a peg or two from urgently concerned, but does not soothe him entirely.

“Are you okay?”

He’s keeping his distance, Neil notices. “I don’t,” Andrew says. Then hesitates. And Andrew Minyard doesn’t _hesitate._ “I do not do that… often.”

Neil has no idea what _that_ is. Letting a half-vampire, half-blood witch drink his fucking blood? Making said half-vampire, half-blood witch come? Coming _with_ the half-vampire, half-blood witch that he stupidly allowed to drink his blood?

“I can leave,” Neil says. “If you need space.”

It’ll hurt, but he’s used to shouldering pain by now. 

“I’ll bring you some iron supplements, though,” he adds, because Andrew still hasn’t said anything. “If you’re feeling weird, it’s probably because I drank too much. It won’t happen again.”

Andrew has shifted from staring blankly at the wall in front of him to looking angry. At Neil. “That’s the problem.”

Ah.

“Sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew says. “Listen to me. The _problem_ is that it _better_ fucking happen again, Josten, even if I can’t — _do_ all of this right away, okay?"

Neil has absolutely no idea what’s happening. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” Andrew says, which sends heat racing straight to Neil’s dick. Apparently Andrew’s blood has caused a significant change in Neil’s physiology. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he understands _that._ “I don't _want_ things, but. I want this. You." The words are a bitten-off admission. Hard fought. Hard won.

He'd be a fool not to understand what it costs Andrew, ever on the defensive and warding himself perpetually from harm, to say aloud.

“Okay,” Neil agrees slowly, but he’s not going to forget the wary shadow in Andrew’s eyes anytime soon. “But first, can I like, shower? And then sleep?”

Andrew agrees without much fanfare, but Neil gets it. This isn’t the end of things, not by a longshot, but that’s alright. It’s a beginning, really.

* * *

Whether it’s magic, or something about Andrew himself, a flip has been switched within Neil.

He wakes up with a groan, cock throbbing from within the boxers he’d pilfered from Andrew’s dresser, the vague haziness of an _incredibly_ pleasant dream disappearing as he rouses into consciousness and realizes exactly what position he's in.

“Shit,” Neil says. “What the fuck.”

“It is too early for your bullshit,” Andrew announces from his bed. He hadn’t consented to share his bed with Neil last night, instead offering Neil a futon mattress and a veritable mountain of blankets to sleep with on the floor beside his own bed. As a result, he’s not visible to Neil, which is probably a good thing, because Neil and his stupid dick would probably think that was the best thing ever.

“I’m hard again,” Neil says dumbly, stuck between arousal and confusion. “This has never happened before. I’ve never been able to — what the fuck.”

Blond curls and those Fae eyes, alight with magic shimmering just beneath the surface, peek out over the edge of the bed. “Are you going through vampire puberty?”

“Fuck off,” Neil bites out, grinding the palm of his hand against his erection. It feels too good to even consider feeling shameful about it, not after last night. But it is… _inconvenient,_ even as he stifles a moan of pleasure _._ “You did this to me.”

“Yeah, forgot to mention that," Andrew says drily. "Drinking my blood causes relentless horniness."

The words are very obviously a joke, but. 

But.

Andrew’s not capable of lying. The Fae blood that runs through him, just like how it now runs through Neil, is a mystical, ageless thing, forcing Andrew to speak the truth in exchange for control over his magic. And it's not beyond the realm of possibility that Andrew's magic has compelled him to speak a truth aloud that he hadn't quite been aware of himself.

“Shit,” Neil says disbelievingly. His vocabulary is not particularly elevated in times of duress such as this one, it would appear. “Your blood’s an aphrodisiac.” 

Silence rings out before Andrew hums thoughtfully. A few moments later, his full face becomes visible from the bed. 

“Well,” Andrew says, staring at Neil like he’s the only important thing he’s ever seen. “Touch yourself, then.”

The command is clear, and goosebumps shiver down Neil’s body as he moves to comply. There’s no other option but to obey, really.

Neil’s body feels too hot as he reaches down beneath the elastic band of his boxers to grab at his cock. It’s an unfamiliar motion, but it’s not as though Neil’s an _idiot._ He knows about sex, even if it’s never been of personal interest to him before, but he’s hard and wanting now. With Andrew telling him what to do, he’s rethinking everything.

“Fuck,” Neil whines the moment his fingers wrap around his length. He strokes himself once, twice, adjusting to the feeling. There's something incredibly heady about having Andrew's undivided attention while he does something so filthy, and he basks in it as he strips his cock. 

“You can’t touch me,” Andrew says. “Not right now. But tell me what you would do, if you could.”

It’s a hilariously incongruent image: Andrew, bundled in a comforter, watching Neil jerk himself off as he writhes on the ground and gasps fantasies about Andrew’s skin.

It's also an unbearably hot one.

“I want,” Neil starts. He knows he should feel awkward, but that’d just be a token protest. The truth is, Andrew’s gaze on him is hot, and overwhelming, and he has no energy to feel ashamed, because it’s _Andrew._ “Your hands on me.”

“Where, Neil?”

The low timbre of Andrew’s voice does _something_ to Neil. His cock jerks in his hand, paying _very_ close attention to these proceedings. “Everywhere,” he gasps. “Holding me down. On my neck, pressing me closer to you. Touching me… here.”

Neil doesn’t realize his eyes have fallen shut against his permission until he hears a soft rustling sound. It takes far more effort than it should to pry them back open, but he manages to catch the way Andrew’s shifting, like he’s uncomfortable and needs to resituate himself on the bed, or.

Or.

His hand speeds up. “Your mouth, too,” Neil tries, because though he can’t remember specific details of his dream, _that_ had at least stuck with him. “I want you to bite _me,_ and leave marks all over."

“Does that please you, Neil? Knowing you’ve left your mark?” And Andrew tips his head to the side, stretching out until Neil can plainly see the bruised, punctured mess of his neck.

“Fuck, Andrew, _yes,”_ he growls, a possessiveness rising in his breast that he hadn’t known was even possible. Seeing the bite marks on Andrew’s throat have him keening in ecstasy. He did that. He marked Andrew, and anyone that sees the two of them will know _exactly_ what they’ve done.

"Would it make you feel better if I sunk my teeth into you, too? Made _you_ bleed for me?"

There’s no mistaking Andrew’s subtle shifting for anything else — just as Neil has himself in hand, so does Andrew. They’re doing this _together,_ even if Andrew doesn’t feel up for physical contact so early in the morning.

That’s fine. Neil doesn’t need touch to get his point across.

“I'm not done with your mouth, though," he says, and then has to slow down so he doesn't come. Even the _thought_ of Andrew's mouth around him has him edging too close to release, and he wants to make this good for both of them before it gets to that point. Heat curls in his stomach as he continues to stroke himself, the friction exquisite and all-encompassing.

"Oh?"

Neil craves Andrew. Fae blood runs through him, and he has no idea how much of this is _them_ and how much of this is a consequence of Andrew's magical lifeforce, but none of that matters in the face of Neil's current mental image. "My hand feels good, but your mouth would feel better. How would you blow me, Andrew?" 

Andrew lets out a loud breath, and Neil can't help but grin. He's not the only one affected, here, and he eyes the up-and-down motion underneath Andrew's blanket meaningfully. His own mouth feels dry at the thought of getting to taste _that,_ too.

"You're the mouthy one," Andrew says, eyes narrowed as he looks down at Neil. "So it'd be an accomplishment to swallow you down until you forgot how to use those snarky words of yours. I think I'd devour you whole."

There is nothing in the world that Neil wants more.

He says as much, punctuating Andrew's words with a groan as he jerks himself and it feels good enough to make his toes curl. "You'd feel amazing," Neil gasps, heat building deep in his stomach as his imagination takes things one step further. "Hot and wet and meant for me."

 _"Neil,"_ Andrew responds, a hair's breadth away from a gasp himself. "Get yourself off. Come for me."

And who is Neil to disobey?

It doesn't take much more of that, Neil jerking himself off as Andrew does the same, together and thinking of everything they’ll be able to do. They have all of the time in the world now, after all.

This orgasm is no less overwhelming than last night's. Something about Andrew's blood within both of their veins has Neil's spine arching as he comes into his hand, warmth washing over him as satisfaction settles into him. 

The bedroom is quiet as Neil swims in the thrill of his release, at least until Andrew groans his own pleasure.

"Andrew," Neil slurs, feeling the tug of sleep tug at him as lax comfort weighs down his limbs. "Shouldn't… drink your blood anymore. Ev'n though it feels _incredible…"_

"No one else," Andrew growls, flopping unceremoniously back onto his own bed. "Only me, Josten. _Only me_ from now on."

It's a terrible idea. It's a wonderful idea.

Neil thinks _that maybe_ he can get used to regular feedings, if it always feels like this.

"Okay," he sighs, and lets unconsciousness drag him under, Andrew's blood warm and perfect in his veins.


End file.
